Rise of the Valiant (20 page)

Dierdre studied
the river, listening quietly.

“You are not
your past,” Kyra continued. “You are your
future
. Horrible things happen
to us not to trap us in the past, but to help us decide on our future. They
make us stronger. They teach us we have more power than we knew. They show us
how strong we are. The question is: what will you choose to do with that
strength?”

Kyra saw her
friend pondering her words, and she fell silent, allowing her her space.
Speaking of past struggles, she could not help but think of her own pain and
suffering, and she realized she was speaking as much to herself as she was to
her friend. It seemed everyone she knew, now that she thought about it, young
and old, was suffering in some way, was haunted by some memory. Was that the
way of life? She wondered.

Kyra watched the
river pass by and the sky grow darker, changing color again and again. She did
not know how much time passed when she was snapped out of her reverie by the
sound of a splashing and a snapping noise. She examined the waters and saw
small, yellow, fluorescent creatures floating on the surface, like jellyfish,
their tiny teeth snapping at the air. They all floated toward the river bank,
and she looked over and watched the exotic creatures lodge themselves in the
mud, swarming with them, making the muddy banks glow yellow. It made Kyra not
want to leave her raft.

They turned a
bend in the river and a new noise filled the air, setting Kyra on edge. It
sounded like rapids—yet she was confused as she looked out and saw none.
Dierdre turned, too, standing, hands on her hips, studying the horizon with a
face filled with concern.

Suddenly, her
face fell.

“We must turn
back!” she cried out, panicked.

“What is it?”
Kyra asked, alarmed, jumping to her feet.

“The Great
Falls!” Dierdre cried out. “I did not think they existed!”

Dierdre grabbed
an oar and rowed backwards frantically, trying to slow their descent. Their
raft slowed, but not enough. The noise grew louder, and Kyra could begin to
feel the spray, the clouds of mist even from here.

“Help me!”
Dierdre cried.

Kyra jumped into
action, grabbed the other oar, and began rowing. But the currents grew stronger
and, try as she did, she was unable to reverse course.

“We can’t fight
it!” Kyra yelled out, shouting to be heard over the noise of the falls.

“Row sideways!”
Dierdre yelled back. “For the river bank!”

Kyra followed
Dierdre’s lead, and they rowed sideways with all they had; soon, to her relief,
the raft began to change course, drifting sideways for the muddy banks. The
falls were growing louder, too—now hardly twenty yards away—a great white spray
rising into the sky, and Kyra knew they had little time.

They were
closing in on the river bank, about to make it to safety, when suddenly, their
raft rocked violently. Kyra looked down, confused, not comprehending what had
happened—there were no boulders she could see below.

It happened
again, and this time Kyra stumbled and fell down to the raft as it rocked from
side to side. She knelt there and looked down at the waters, wondering—when her
heart plummeted to see a yellow tentacle rise up out of the waters and latch
onto the raft. There emerged another tentacle—then another—and Kyra watched
with horror as an enormous squid-like creature emerged, its tentacles reaching
out and spreading across their boat. Bright yellow, luminescent, it opened its
jaws right for her.

Kyra and Dierdre
rowed frantically, trying to get away, but the creature was too strong, pulling
them right toward it. Kyra realized they would never make it to shore, even
though it was only feet away. They would die at the hands of this beast.

Worse, they were
now back in the current, drifting closer to the falls, hardly ten yards away.

Desperate, Kyra
reached back, grabbed her staff, released it into two parts, and raised it
high. She brought down its sharp blades on the creature’s tentacles as hard as
she could.

The creature
screeched, an awful noise, as green pus emerged from it. Yet still, it did not
release their boat. It raised its jaws higher, and Kyra knew that in moments it
would swallow them whole.

Kyra knew they
had no choice—and she had to make a quick decision.

“Drop the oars!”
she cried to Dierdre, who was still frantically try to row away. “We have to
jump!”

“Jump!?” Dierdre
called back, frantic, her voice barely audible over the deafening roar of the
falls.

“Now!” Kyra
shrieked, as the beast’s jaws were but feet away and closing in.

Kyra grabbed Leo
and grabbed Dierdre’s hand, and she turned and jumped, pulling them both
overboard and into the rapids.

A moment later
they were all submerged in the icy waters of the Tanis, the currents pulling
them for the falls. Kyra saw the squid, glowing beneath the water, too and
turned and saw the falls but feet away. The fall might kill them—but that
creature certainly would.

Water gushing,
Kyra felt herself propelled downriver and she braced herself as she began to go
over the falls. Beside her, she saw Leo and then Dierdre go over, airborne,
shrieking—when suddenly something wrapped around her leg, keeping her back. She
looked upriver to see a glowing tentacle wrapped around her leg, pulling her
back.

Kyra was
horrified to realize she was stuck on the precipice, and to see the creature’s
jaws closing in on her as it pulled her close, using its magnificent strength
to keep her from going over. She looked back and saw the falls behind her and
ironically she wished for nothing more than to go over.

About to be
eaten, desperate, Kyra thought quickly. She raised the two halves of her staff,
still in her hand, and with one last desperate effort, she threw them at the
beast. She watched them sail through the air, and she prayed her aim was true.

There came an
awful shriek, and she watched with satisfaction as the short spears landed in
the squid’s eyes.

The creature
released its grip on her foot—and a moment later, Kyra felt herself gushing
downriver, over the falls, plummeting through the air and mist and spray, and
hurtling down to the rocks a hundred feet below.

Merk jabbed his
staff into the moist forest floor, poking leaves beneath his feet, hiking as he
had been for days back through Whitewood, and determined to stop at nothing
this time until he reached the Tower of Ur. As he walked, he closed his eyes
and, try as he did, he could not stop seeing that scene of grief flashing
through his mind, the girl, her family, her weeping…. Her final words still
rang in his ears. He hated himself for returning for her—and he hated himself
for leaving.

Merk did not
understand what was happening to him; all his life he had been unsusceptible to
guilt, to rebuke, to anyone else’s problems. He had always been his own man, on
his own island, his own mission. He had always made it a point to keep himself
at arm’s length from the world, not to involve himself in anyone else’s
troubles—unless they needed his special skills and there was hefty payment
involved.

But now, for
some reason, Merk could not stop thinking of this girl he barely knew, of her
rebuke of his character, even though he had done the right thing. He didn’t
know why it bothered him, but it did.

He, of course,
could not return for her again. She had her chance. What bothered him was why
he had turned back at all. He longer knew what was right: to live a life for
himself, or to live a life of others? Had his encounter with her been a lesson?
If so, what was the lesson learned?

What was wrong,
Merk wondered, with just living a life for yourself? For your own selfish
needs? For your own survival? Why did people have to get entangled in other
people’s lives? Why should they care? Why couldn’t other people count on
themselves for survival? And if they could not, then why should they have a
right to survive?

Something was
poking at his consciousness, an awareness, perhaps, that there was a greater
world out there, a realization that his having only looked out for himself his
entire life had lead him to a deep loneliness. It was a realization that
helping other people might be the best way to help himself, too. He realized it
gave him some feeling of connection to the greater world without which he felt
he would eventually shrivel up and die.

It was a
purpose
.
That was it. Merk craved purpose the way a starving man craves food. Not the
purpose of some other man who was hiring him, but a purpose of his own. It
wasn’t a job he needed—it was
meaning
. What was meaning? He wondered. It
was elusive, felt always just out of reach. And he hated things he could not
easily put his finger on.

Merk looked up
as he hiked through Whitewood, its stark white leaves shimmering in the late
afternoon sun, the golden rays of an early sunset cutting through them and
casting them in a beautiful light. This place was magical. A warm breeze blew,
the weather finally turning, the rustling sound filling his ears, and as leaves
fell from trees they showered down all around him. Merk forced himself to turn
his thoughts back to his hike, his destination. The Tower of Ur.

Merk already saw
himself as a Watcher, entering the sacred order, protecting the kingdom from
trolls and anyone else who dared tried to steal the Sword of Fire. He knew it
was a sacred duty, knew the fate of Escalon depended upon it, and he wanted
nothing more than that sense of duty. He could not wait for his talents to be
put to use for a good cause, not a selfish one. It was the highest order he
could imagine.

Yet Merk was
struck with sudden worry as a terrible thought crossed his mind like a shadow:
what if they turned him away? He had heard the Watchers were a diverse group,
made up of human warriors, like he, but also of another race, an ancient race,
part human and part something else—famed for turning people away. He had no
idea how they would react to his presence. What would they be like? he
wondered. Would they accept him? And what if they did not?

Merk crested a
hill and as he did, a valley spread out beneath him and in the far distance, a
great peninsula reached out into the Sea of Sorrow, water sparkling all around
it. He gasped. At its windswept end, there it sat: the Tower of Ur. Merk’s
heart beat faster at the sight. Surrounded by ocean on three sides, huge waves
crashing into the rocks and sending up sprays of mist, sparkling in the
sunlight, the tower was set in the most haunting, beautiful landscape he had
ever seen. A hundred feet high, fifty feet wide, shaped in a perfect circle,
its stone was ancient, a shade of white he had never seen before, looking as if
it had stood for centuries. It was capped by a smooth, round golden dome,
reflecting the sun, and its entrance was marked by soaring doors, thirty feet
high, arched, they, too, made of shining gold.

It was the sort
of place Merk expected to see in a dream. It was a place he’d always wondered
about, and a place he could hardly fathom was real. Seeing it now, in person,
took his breath away. He did not believe in energy, yet still, he could not
deny that there was some sort of special energy radiating off the place.

Merk set off
downhill with a new bounce to his step, elated to be on the final leg of his
journey. The forest opened up and he found himself a smooth, green countryside,
the entrance to the peninsula, warmer here than the rest of Escalon. He felt
the sun shining down on his face, heard the crashing of the waves, and saw the
open sky before him, and he felt a deep peace. He felt, finally, he had
arrived.

Merk hiked, the
tower looming in the distance, and he was baffled to see no one standing guard
around it. He had expected to find a small army guarding it on all sides,
protecting the most precious relics of Escalon, and he was perplexed. It was as
if it were abandoned.

Merk couldn’t
understand. How could a place be so well-guarded, and yet have no one standing
outside? He sensed this place was unlike any other he had been, that he would
learn things here about the art of combat that he would never learn elsewhere.

Merk continued
hiking and reached a broad plateau of grass before the tower. Before him sat a
curious sculpture: a stone staircase, circular, rising perhaps twenty feet
high, its steps intricately carved in ivory. The steps turned and twisted and
led, oddly, to nothing but air. It was a freestanding spiral staircase, and
Merk could not understand its meaning or symbolism—or why it was placed here in
the midst of this grass field. He wondered what other surprises lay ahead.

Merk continued
on and as he approached the tall, golden doors to the tower, hardly twenty
yards away, his heart pounded in anticipation. He felt dwarfed by this place,
in awe of it. He walked reverentially up to the doors, stopping before them,
and slowly reached up his palms and laid them on the gold. The metal was cold
and curiously dry, despite the ocean breezes; he could feel the contours of the
intricately carved symbols, smooth in his palm. He craned back his neck and
looked straight up at the tower, and admired its height, its immaculate design.
Rarely in his life had he felt in the presence of something greater than
himself—architecturally, physically, and spiritually—yet now, for the first
time, he did.

Merk studied the
ancient golden doors, like a portal to another world, guarding, he knew, the
greatest treasure in Escalon. They gleamed in the sun, and Merk was taken not
only by their power, but also their beauty. This tower doubled as a fortress
and as a work of art.

He saw an
ancient script etched into the gold, and wished desperately that he could
understand the meaning. He felt a deep regret that he could not read or write,
felt ashamed as he tried. Those who lived inside would know more than he ever
could. He was not of the noble class, and while never before had he wished that
he was, on this day, he did.

Merk searched
the doors for a knob, a knocker, some point of entry—and he was surprised to
find none. This place seemed to be perfectly sealed.

He stood there,
wondering. This place was a deepening mystery. There came no noise, no activity
inside or out, there were no Watchers, no humans—nothing but silence. He was
baffled. There came only the sound of the wind, a gale whistling through,
rippling off the ocean, blowing so hard it nearly knocked him off balance
before it disappeared just as quickly. It felt as if this place had been
abandoned.

Not knowing what
else to do, Merk reached up and began to pound the door with his fist. It
barely made a sound, echoing then fading away, drowned out by the wind.

Merk waited,
expecting the door to open.

But there came
no response.

Merk wondered
what he had to do to make his presence known. He stood there, thinking, then
finally had an idea. He extracted the dagger from his belt, reached high, and
slammed its hilt into the door. This time, the sharp noise reverberated
throughout the place, echoing again and again. There was no way they could not
hear that.

Merk stood there
and waited, listening to the echo slowly die down, and he began to wonder if
anyone would ever appear. Why were they ignoring him? Was this some sort of
test?

He was debating
whether to walk around the tower, to look for another entrance, when a slit in
the door suddenly slid back, making him flinch. He was caught off guard to see,
staring back at him at eye level, two yellow, piercing eyes, as inhuman eyes as
he had ever seen, staring right through his soul. It instilled a chill in him.

Merk stared
back, not knowing what to say in the tense silence.

“What is it that
you wish here?” the voice finally came, a deep, hollow voice which set him on
edge.

At first, Merk
did not know how to respond. Finally, he replied:

“I wish to
enter. I wish to become a Watcher. To serve Escalon.”

The eyes stared
back, unflinching, expressionless, and Merk thought the creature would never
respond. Finally, though, a response came, its voice rumbling:

“Only the worthy
may enter here,” it replied.

Merk reddened.

“And what makes
you think I’m unworthy?” he demanded.

“In what way can
you prove that you are?”

The slit slid
shut as quickly as it had opened, and with that, the doors were completely
sealed again.

Merk stared back
in the silence, baffled. He reached up with his dagger hilt and slammed the
door again and again. The hollow sound echoed, ringing in his ears, filling the
desolate countryside.

But no matter
how long and how hard he banged, the slit did not open again.

“Let me in!”
Merk shrieked, a cry filled with despair, rising to the heavens, as he leaned
back in agony and realized that those doors might not ever, ever open again